


Risian Cordial

by prairiecrow



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Age Difference, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Fingerfucking, First Time, Intoxication, Love Bites, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:55:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small bottle of liqueur provided by Jadzia Dax leads to some big changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set post-"The Wire" and pre-"The Search".

Garak really should have known better — much better — than to accept Jadzia Dax's invitation in the first place. An evening of cross-cultural discussion, in Julian Bashir's quarters? It was a set-up on par with a plot twist in one of the "Love Slaves of Vulcan" novels, but, well… entertainment was hard to come by on this station, at least for a man who found holosuites and Dabo both tawdry and insipid, and he had to confess that it would be intriguing to engage in a few hours of conversation with a being who had lived as many lifetimes as the lovely Lieutenant. Not to mention the added incentive of Bashir's presence: even if he wasn't able to keep up with the conversation (and Garak suspected he certainly would), he was pretty enough to serve as a very fetching adornment in the background of the proceedings.

So Garak had said yes, of course, he'd be pleased to come. But when he'd arrived on time, dressed in his most flattering tunic and slimming black trousers, and Bashir had greeted him at the door and cheerfully informed him that Lieutenant Dax wouldn't be able to join them due to a last-minute analysis project in Ops, he should have smiled politely, tendered his profound regrets and immediately taken himself back to his own small set of rooms, where enough paperwork awaited him to keep him busy all night. But Bashir's expression had been so eager — pleading, really — as he'd urged Garak to join him, after all Jadzia had given him a bottle of wine that she was  _positive_  Garak would enjoy and it only had a shelf life of a few days and it seemed a pity to waste it, and Bashir hated drinking alone, and… well, it wasn't the first time those warm hazel eyes had worked their totally oblivious magic on Garak's otherwise adamant determination. 

So he'd agreed to come in and sample a glass. And now here they were thirty or so minutes later, sitting on Bashir's couch (so much larger and more comfortable than any furniture Garak could afford, a description which could apply to Bashir's quarters as a whole) and sipping magenta alcohol from small tapered glasses. Apparently Dax had provided them along with the bottle of cordial, which Garak had to admit really was quite tasty. A third glass sat beside the half-litre sphere holding the liqueur, initially a tacit reminder of an absent friend, now forgotten in the heated exchange of opinions. That was one thing Garak had always appreciated about Bashir: even when they'd first met and Bashir had been a stammering mess of conflicted fear and excitement, the charming young man had never hesitated to plunge headlong into conversation.

"But that's utterly inconsistent with your initial position," Bashir protested, shifting around to face Garak even more directly: his right ankle was now resting on his left knee, his right knee almost touching the back of the couch, and his right elbow was propped atop the upright cushion. Had he wanted to, he could have splashed the glass of cordial he was cradling in that hand straight up into Garak's face. There was a faint blush on his golden cheeks and his eyes were alight with the joy of intellectual pursuit. "You can't simply state that Gortev was justified in protecting his sister with one breath, then claim that he was betraying the State with the next!"

"I don't see why not," Garak said mildly, keeping his smile thin and enigmatic, an expression calculated to drive Bashir to new heights of earnestness. "It seems to me a great failing of Human perception that you insist that events can only be interpreted from one point of view. For example —"

As anticipated, Bashir shook his head emphatically and snuck in a sip of cordial before taking up the thread of argument again. "If you want to talk about 'interpreting events from only one point of view', all you have to do is look at Cardassian historical texts. I mean, have you  _read_  Seveka's account of the Battle of Kitak Nor? He clearly states that Legate Essovat was motivated by his devotion to Gul Veral's cult of personality, then rides that theme into the ground by endlessly repeating…"

Garak maintained an expression of polite attention and took another sip from his own glass, which, like Bashir's, was almost empty. His mind, normally as clear and as cold as ice, had taken on a warm background glow not unlike the tint of rose on Bashir's honey-toned skin. Really, he reflected, the man was almost criminally beautiful, and utterly unaware of the effect his sweet slender body had on anyone who wasn't female, lithe and equally young. Garak was untroubled by this — he'd always cherished his secrets and there was a certain satisfaction in appreciating Bashir from full cover — but… he caught himself just in time to avoid emitting an audible sigh. His life was what it must be, and sacrifices of appetite had been made out of necessity, but suddenly he was acutely aware that the constraints he'd placed upon himself could be, on occasion, almost unbearably onerous. 

Occasions like this one, when Bashir had just finished speaking and was looking at him with those wide luminous eyes. He gave himself a little mental shake and widened his smile slightly. "I'm sorry, Doctor… my mind must have wandered for a moment. Would you mind repeating your last point?"

"Are you feeling all right, Garak?"

"Am I…?" The question caught him by surprise. "Of course. Never better." Then, more cautiously, "Why do you ask?"

"You sighed just now, and you looked… I don't know. Preoccupied."

Before Garak could modulate his expression, he felt his smile grow wider and less dissembling. He should have been alarmed to discover that he hadn't censored himself after all, but instead he felt only gratified by his companion's perceptiveness and manifest friendliness. "I assure you, I'm perfectly fine."

"Well, good." Bashir's smile was equally warm and — no, not  _inviting_ , certainly not, nowhere near as inviting as the faint scent of him, clean yet undeniably masculine. A fleeting worry about what exactly was in this beverage he was drinking crossed Garak's mind, but it was banished by the dark desert radiance of the man sitting so close to him. The impulse to reach out and curve his hand around Bashir's impossibly delicate nape and lean in to taste those enchanting lips rose toward consciousness and was deflected just in time. "I'd hate to think you were losing interest in our conversation."

"I will never lose interest in conversing with you," Garak said without a hint of a lie, and the expression of almost shy delight that lit up Bashir's smooth features was entirely worth it. Basking in that happiness, he felt so pleasant that it took him a moment to be startled when Bashir set aside his glass on the coffee table, then slid off the couch to sit on the floor. "Doctor! What are you doing?"

Bashir settled down cross-legged with the couch on his right side and patted the carpet in front of him. "Come on, Garak. Join me."

"I should think not!" He felt vaguely scandalized. For the first time it occurred to him that they were both drunk on only a few mouthfuls of liqueur, but what Bashir did next effectively distracted him from those concerns.

"Oh." The Human actually pouted slightly, and then leaned a little closer and rested his chin on Garak's knee to look up at him with wide dark eyes. "Please?"

Garak couldn't conceal a slight smile at such transparent manipulation. "No, dear. It's undignified."

"Hmph." Bashir's finely drawn brows drew together in a fetching little frown. "You're no fun."

"On the contrary. I make you laugh on a regular basis." He reached down and dared to stroke the crest of the Doctor's tousled dark hair, marvelling at its texture, slightly rough yet silky. "Besides, you look far too charming this way. Coming down to your level would spoil it."

"What way?"

"With your head on my knee. Very pretty."

Bashir's smile was almost too wide for his narrow face, causing Garak's heart to perform a slow flip in his chest. In the back of his mind a sharp voice said that it was really time for him to be going, but it seemed dim and distant at the moment, far less real than Bashir's expression of pleasure or the smoothness of his hair against the palm of Garak's hand. The skin at the nape of his neck felt even more appealing, just as silky as Garak had imagined. 

"That's nice," Bashir murmured, letting his eyelids fall closed and stretching his back. He turned to rest his cheek fully on Garak's thigh and sighed contentedly. "Mmm. Good stuff, this cordial. Think I'll have some more."

"That probably wouldn't be wise."

"Probably not," he agreed equitably. "Come on, Garak. Come down. I want to be able to see your face."

"I can't imagine why," he quipped, watching his hand move further and his fingers open, spreading out between Bashir's shoulder blades. The youth was wearing his uniform and the fabric was somewhat coarse, but oh, what lay beneath it… 

"You have a very good face," Bashir protested. "All those ridges. Very baroque. And such intense eyes." He tilted his head back and looked up with a trace of resentment, although the touch of his hand sliding up Garak's calf was soft and persuasive and sent a jolt of mild electricity through parts of Garak's body he'd put to sleep years ago. "C'mon. I'll get a crick in my neck otherwise."

"Well, we can't have that," Garak conceded, and moved down onto the floor with complete disregard for the state of his pants. He sat down cross-legged facing Bashir, wincing slightly as his knees protested the unaccustomed configuration. "There. Are you happier now?"

"Much, thanks." He reached for his glass again, picked it up, then seemed to lose track of it in his hand as his gaze settled on Garak's eyes. " _Much_  better. Do you really think I'm pretty?"

"I think you might just be the prettiest man on this station."

Both eyebrows rose. " _Might_  be?"

"Well," Garak clarified mildly, "I haven't seen every single male on board. For example, a Nemidian freighter docked only this afternoon. It's conceivable that one of them might be lovelier than you."

"Oh." Bashir looked a little crestfallen.

"I doubt it, though. You set a very high standard."

He blushed, a further tint of rose that only enhanced his charm, then took a hasty sip of cordial to cover the moment of embarrassment. "You know, I think you might actually mean that."

"I never say anything I don't mean," Garak stated virtuously. 

Another sip. He licked his lips afterwards, which was moderately distracting. "That doesn't mean you're telling the truth."

"Very good, Doctor!" Garak picked up his glass, saluted Bashir, and drained what was left in it. "Where did you say Lieutenant Dax got this again?"

"Risa." Like a good host, Bashir immediately provided a refill. "Do you like it? She said you would."

"It's similar to fifty-year-old Aravok kanar." He took another mouthful, swirled it critically on his tongue, then swallowed. "Sweet, with a definite bite at the end."

"Just like you." Bashir's smile was perhaps the slyest expression Garak had ever seen him wear. 

"I never bite unless asked," Garak protested, even more virtuously.

"All right." He set the bottle down, too carefully, and peered at Garak owlishly. "Would you? This is me, asking."

Garak regarded him with amazement, then burst into laughter. "Oh, my… you  _are_  drunk, aren't you?"

"I'm not drunk," Bashir said indignantly. "Just… a little squiffy."

"You're — what? The translator didn't catch that at all."

"Never mind." He drank off his cordial and deposited the empty glass on the floor, his hazel eyes never leaving Garak's face. The intensity of his gaze was disquieting. "I think you want to. The first time we met, you flirted with me."

Garak shifted uncomfortably, not quite able to suppress the shiver that made his shoulders twitch. "I did not."

Bashir just looked at him without blinking.

"And besides," Garak continued to fill the silence, "even if I did, can you blame me? You were so easy to play with, how could I resist? You should have seen the expression on your face!"

He knew he was babbling, and so, it seemed, did Bashir. "Now who's drunk?" the Human teased.

"My dear." Garak drew himself up to his full sitting height, in an instinctive posture that would have flared his throat scales had his species not evolved them away millions of years ago. "I'm a  _Cardassian._  It takes more than fruit juice to put us in our cups."

"Mm." He licked his lips again, this time with a conscious air of sensuality as his gaze ran over Garak's mouth, along the line of his jaw, down his left neck ridge. "You know, I think you'd enjoy playing with me  _much_  better now. I'm not afraid of you anymore."

"Really?" He could feel the first throbbing of his pulse in the erectile tissues under his scales and a warm heaviness stirring behind his penile sheath, when such reactions should have been beyond his capacity to experience. He had resigned himself to a monastic existence years ago, trapped on this station apart from his own kind and surrounded by people who hated him. Evidently Bashir did not hate him. "You should be, my lovely child. Or have you not been paying attention?"

Bashir nodded. "To everything you've said — and everything you haven't said, too."

"I sincerely doubt that." The sensation of lust was far more disorienting than the sensation of alcoholic intoxication. He closed his eyes and strove to exorcise the unsanctioned thoughts infiltrating the edges of his normally disciplined mind: the thrill of parting layers of cloth, the warmth and smoothness of naked caramel skin under his hands, the velvet heat of a willing mouth, kisses and bites and whispers, the way Bashir would gasp the first time he —

Kissing. Bashir was  _kissing_  him, hot parted lips and a strong slender hand wrapped around the back of  _his_  neck to hold him steady, the wet glide of a nimble tongue demanding and gaining entrance, a soft purr deep in that slim throat as the Human leaned closer and tilted his head and worked his jaw, and oh, he was  _good_ , so good that Garak was suddenly and exquisitely aware that even a carefully crafted agent of the Cardassian Union was, in the end, only flesh and blood. An agent of the Order could stand against any challenge and resist any distraction; a man, in contrast, was prey for an amorous pursuit, especially by as skilled and determined a hunter as Julian Bashir. 

[TO BE CONTINUED…]


	2. Chapter 2

So stunned that he didn't even drop his glass, Garak yielded to the lustful caress being perpetrated upon him without having the presence of mind to voice so much as a murmur of protest. When Julian finally broke away just enough to speak the boy licked his lips again in a way that Garak felt in parts considerably further south, and whispered: "You know, I'm really very glad that Jadzia ended up having to work late in Ops."

"Really?" Garak's slow reptilian heart was pounding, and his mouth felt deliciously sensitized and full of yearning hunger in the aftermath of such a sensual assault. He managed to keep the ache of it out of his voice. "I would have expected you to be wishing that it was her in my place."

"She's a beautiful woman," Julian agreed at once, "no question, so strong and intelligent and mysterious. And you're an utterly fascinating man, also strong and intelligent, and  _much_  more mysterious." The hand at the nape of Garak's neck shifted tactics, long skillful fingers tugging at the neck of his tunic, trying to coax it open while his other hand settled on Garak's right knee and began to slide upward. "Come on, let me see…"

Garak caught the Human's right wrist to prevent further explorations. "Give me a moment to get over being utterly stunned by this unexpected turn of events."

The hand travelling up his thigh paused. Julian drew back a little, scowling faintly. "Don't you want me to?"

"I'm not sure there's a good answer to that question," he replied with great care.

"The truth would be a start."

Garak let his exasperation break cover. "Oh,  _come_  now — you know better than that!"

Julian's smile turned mischievous. "All right, don't say anything at all. Just kiss me and touch me wherever you like. I promise I won't mind. In fact, I'd positively adore it." He leaned in again, but Garak thwarted him by leaning away just enough to evade his lips.

"You've never shown the slightest interest in me or any other man," he challenged.

"It's not very often I come across a man who gets me going," Julian countered. His gaze was running over Garak's face with almost palpable force, and Garak felt a little like a man confronted with a tiger he'd been living next to for months yet somehow never caught sight of before. "And I wasn't sure it was safe to let you know."

"Well, I'll inform you right now that it's definitely  _not_  sa—" 

This time that soft hungry mouth was too quick for him. The persistent hand on his leg moved further inland, thumb and fingers rubbing thrilling circles as it went, and when they finally parted Julian sounded distinctly breathless. "So. Now you know. Not much point in pretending anymore, is there? Safe or not."

The first kiss had been as shocking as a unexpected body blow. This time it struck even more deeply, kindling a flame down in Garak's core that left him breathless with amazement. The warm hand creeping up his inner thigh wasn't helping, but nevertheless he clung to a necessary degree of skepticism. "If this is true, you're a much better liar than I've given you credit for."

"Not a liar," Julian said stubbornly. "Just used to — oh damn it, Garak, are you going to kiss me or not? I don't want to have to do all the —"

There, Garak thought triumphantly,  _that_  should shut the boy up for at least a few seconds! And indeed Julian seemed startled that Garak had taken him up on his challenge: a little cough of amazement escaped the seal of their lips, then a throaty moan as he responded with commendable enthusiasm, surrendering to the clasp of Garak's left hand on the back of his neck and then, once Garak had rapidly discarded his glass of cordial on the coffee table, to the pressure of his right hand curved around that smoothly contoured jawline to brace Julian for the intense assault of his mouth. It wasn't a weapon he was accustomed to using in quite this fashion — his training lay in spying and sabotage, not in the arts of a courtesan — but Julian seemed to find his technique perfectly satisfactory, making greedy little noises of assent as he sank his right hand into the fall of Garak's hair and stroked back with his tongue and offered electric little nips on the tip of Garak's as he was thoroughly, deeply tasted.

By the time they needed to come up for air the good Doctor was audibly panting and his left hand was rubbing at Garak's groin: the angle was awkward and the thickness of his trousers somewhat blunted the sensation, but it was still more than enough to stimulate a pang of opening along his genital ridge. The sharp sweetness of the sensation sparked amazement at just how little time Julian (whom Garak had always pegged as a slow and tender lover) was wasting, and also a brief interval of mental clarity which revealed that a man his age shouldn't be rolling around lustfully on a thinly carpeted floor, no matter how enticing his companion might be. When he released his hold on the enflaming boy and put his left hand on the couch and started to lever himself to his feet, wincing as his left knee protested the act of unbending, Julian looked at him as if he'd just been kicked. 

"Garak —" 

He sounded so plaintive that it was all Garak could do not to laugh in disbelief, but really, Julian was  _serious_ , laughter was not an appropriate response, so instead he bit his own tongue and explained: "I'm too old to roll around on hard floors,  _arashi_  — back up on the couch, if you please."

"Oh!" Julian's pleading eyes brightened, and he scrambled to his feet with a speed and fluidity that Garak could only envy, then extended both hands to help him up. Given the way Julian was swaying ever so slightly, Garak judged it most prudent to take only one of the offered hands, continuing to use his own left hand steady himself as he got back onto the couch again.  _Fruit juice_  indeed — clearly Risian cordial was a force to be reckoned with, even for a mature male Cardassian. Given how inebriated he was feeling he was mildly amazed that Julian was still conscious, much less able to straddle his lap and take his face in both hands and kiss him again with such nimble determination.

As enthusiastic as the Doctor was — eager sucking mouth attacking from ever-changing angles, skillful hands exploring the texture of Garak's mane and the ridges down his neck and the shape of his shoulders and upper arms through the thick tunic he was wearing — Garak told himself that he had to be the rational one in this equation because clearly Julian's internal governor was offline. He decided to keep his hands on Julian's middle back: low enough to steady him if he swayed too much and threatened to fall over, not far enough south to be  _improper_. It was a very good middle back, lithe and subtly sculpted under that hideous uniform, and smooth and strong besides, with shapes that naturally led the hands to follow the them down along his spine to his waist, then over his hips — slim, taut, perfect male form — and then, well, the curve of his buttocks lured the fingers to follow their roundness inward, until they were both being firmly cupped and squeezed, and Julian was moaning through his nose and spreading his thighs even more and grinding forward against Garak's lower stomach and — 

Oh dear. Propriety had obviously left the room some time ago. 

"Doctor." He managed a gasp when Julian pulled back to snatch a quick breath, a word all the more hard-won because he wasn't a passive recipient of those ravenous kisses: the taste of Julian's mouth was utterly delicious and he was seeking it just as avidly. Julian uttered a brusque little inquiring murmur but didn't stop kissing him. "Doctor, will y—  _wait!_ "

He accompanied that last demand with a sharp shake of Julian's hips, and that finally seemed to get through. Julian pulled back enough to look him in the face, frowning just a little. The image the boy presented — pouting, tousle-haired, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and eyes dark with unrepentant lust — sent the fire that had been steadily rising in Garak's core flowing outward into every cell of his entire body. In spite of his own apprehension he couldn't keep that growl of carnal heat out of his voice: "What are you doing?  _Think!_  Is this what you  _really_  want?"

Julian's eyebrows drew together, this time in puzzlement, before smoothing out in a smile of tender compassion. His arms were wrapped around Garak's shoulders, but now he freed his right hand to lay it against Garak's cheek. "Since the first time you touched me," he said, and his hand was gentle now, caressing, so damnably  _sweet_  that Garak had to clench his teeth to keep from biting those long caramel fingers in annoyance. "But I never thought you'd let me get this close."

"And I never would have," Garak rebuked him, then tightened his hold on Julian's waist when the boy's face fell and he made as if to shift backwards off of Garak's lap. "Oh, no — you're not going anywhere, you pretty little fool. Not if I have anything to say about it."

Disappointment became delight in the blink of bright hazel eyes. With a breathy little sigh Julian snuggled up against him again and pressed affectionate lips briefly to the tiny scales that adorned the tip of his nose. "Good," he said with tremendous satisfaction, followed by another nose tip kiss. "'Cause I want to be right here." Another kiss, this time on the lips, gentle but full of melting heat. "Right here with you, you brilliant —" Kiss. "— infuriating —" Kiss. "—  _impossible_  man."

"Hrmmm." Irritation was rapidly being eclipsed by satisfaction: Julian had been duly warned and was keen to proceed anyway. This seemed to clear up a great deal of Garak's uneasiness, although Preloc's spectre alone knew why. While that hot lush mouth went back to work, more softly now — their brief comversation seemed to have spun them back from complete drunken abandon to something more sedate but no less incendiary — he kept his hands in the vicinity of the Human's waist, but now they were more free to roam, to trace his strong spine and the contours of his hips and the delectable curves of his pert little ass. As Julian sighed and squirmed and emitted the occasional happy little whimper, a distant part of Garak's mind wondered exactly when he, himself, had decided that this was a good idea, or even a reasonable one — but really, had there ever been a time when he hadn't found Julian Bashir profoundly persuasive on a purely instinctive level? Had he ever reacted to those eloquent eyes and that appealing smile with a heart as cold as it should be? 

Such considerations were abruptly driven from his awareness when Julian, in a honeyed murmur between one kiss and the next, assured him: "Don't worry. I've been with another man before."

"And you think I haven't?" More kisses, which Garak had to admit were very distracting, but he surfaced long enough to bring up a vital point: "That's all very well and good, sweetheart, but it doesn't mean you'll know what to do with  _me!_ "

Julian paused, frowning at him, and sat back a little. "Doesn't it? Why? Is there something about Cardassian males that I ought to know?"

For a second Garak considered all the possible wild stories he could spin off of that simple question, but in the end he said: "Matters of protocol, mostly. You're considerably younger than I am, for one thing."

The adorable scowl deepened. "Does that really make a difference?"

"Oh yes. For instance — and no Federation prudery allowed, if you please — we tend to emphasize such discrepancies when they occur. Let me give you an example: it's considered very tender and highly erotic for the youth in the equation to refer to his older male partner as 'Father'."

Julian's narrowed eyes grew wide. "You're joking."

"I assure you, I've never been more serious in my life."

"So you want me to call you 'Daddy'?"

"Only if you'd like to," Garak assured him. 

"That's… very strange."

"No, just very Cardassian."

"You don't strike me as the 'Daddy' type," he mused, tracing the ridge of scales from Garak's ear to his chin with a thoughtful touch while gazing deeply into his eyes. "But you're definitely dominant, and certainly masterful, and have such a dignified bearing." His eyelids slid down to half-mast, veiling his bright eyes behind a screen of fine dark lashes as a teasing smile curved his full lips. He leaned closer again, pressing chest to chest and belly to belly, the long burning heat of him clear to be felt. "And you're so much more experienced than I am… I'm sure you could teach me all sorts of new things,  _Father._ "

[TO BE CONTINUED…]


	3. Chapter 3

That simple word, murmured by an alien's mouth in a cold room on a bleak and isolated prison far from home, provoked a resonance of pure eager lust in Garak's entire body: he had to resist an almost painfully sharp impulse to push the boy sideways onto the couch and tear open that tasteless uniform he was wearing and stroke his pretty cock until he whimpered for mercy. He settled for breathing ardent words against Julian's lips — "Oh, my clever child!" — and finally wrapping one arm fully around that slim waist to pull the delicious youth as close as possible, an action that met with Julian's full approval if the slender arms wrapped tightly around his neck in return were any fair indication. "I always knew you had a quick and perceptive mind." 

"Mmm." Julian cradled the back of Garak's head in one hand and started kissing him again, deep hungry caresses with words slipped in between them: "If it's my mind — you're interested in — I think — we have a problem…"

"I'm always interested — in your mind, beautiful boy." His free hand was savouring that tight little ass, rubbing and squeezing it in the way that Julian seemed to thoroughly enjoy. "It's the only part of you — I've been able to touch, until now." He stroked into the cleft with his index and middle fingers, pressing the uniform material into it, making Julian squirm and push back. "You like that, do you?"

"Oh God  _yes_..." Panting now.

"And what else would you like me to do with it?"

"Oh, all sorts of dirty things — that's right, put your fingers deeper, inside — oh yes, right there, push, push in, all the way in —" He emitted a delicious indescribable sound and threw his head back, half-laughing. " _Yes!_  Oh God, yes! S'been too long." Neck still arched, he looked down at Garak in what had to be the most meltingly seductive way Garak had ever seen directed at him personally. "Want your cock in there. Will you?"

It was hard to catch his breath. Even through two layers of cloth he could feel the heat of Julian's  _eshtek_  all around his fingertips, and the way the tight little orifice clasped the intruders promised exquisite delights. His own  _sharast_  everted in a smooth dizzying glide, fully erect and ready for action in spite of the cordial's inebriating effects. "What do you think?"

Julian grinned, leaned closer again, and whispered into Garak's left ear as if sharing the most esoteric secret: "I think you'll fuck me from here to the Gamma Quadrant —  _oh!_  —" as Garak, in a fit of mean-spirited lust, slid his fingers even further, as much as the give of the cloth would permit. "— oh, at  _least_  that far, nice and hard and deep. Just like you've always wanted to. You do, don't you?"

"What? Want to have you?" He began stroking his fingertips in and out, slowly, thoroughly enjoying the impropriety of finger-fucking this gorgeous young man through his clothes. 

"Want to  _fuck_  me," Julian corrected, "you already  _have_  me," and started to nibble at Garak's left eye ridge. Garak's blood pressure took a precipitous leap upwards: surely the Doctor didn't know that the ridge was a potent erogenous zone? He was certainly behaving as if he did.

"You have a filthy little mouth," he chided in as steady a voice as he could manage, twisting his fingers in a way that made Julian whimper pleadingly, so hot and so ready: how long had this been lurking below the surface? Garak set the question aside for later consideration.

"Oh, I'm just getting started." He was almost laughing again, and now he ground his pelvis forward, rubbing his erection against Garak's stomach, then pushed back, as if trying to impale himself even more on Garak's fingers. "When you stick it in me, there's no telling what I might say." He paused, breathing deeply, then gasped outright laughter. "Maybe even Federation secrets! Mmm, no, not really. But I promise you, I'll —"

Garak bit his golden throat just above his uniform collar, unable to resist any longer, driven to mark that sweet smooth skin by instincts that predated the birth of his species. Julian uttered a startled little cry, then drew a sharp breath as Garak stroked the bitten place with his tongue, sucked at it, then bit it again, this time more lightly. "Wicked boy," he hissed against it when he was sure he'd planted the seeds of a lovely bruise, tightening his arm around Julian's waist to restrain him in case he decided to flee. Chase-games were almost as ancient as the instinct to mark one's mate, but he had no taste for them when he was this intoxicated. "Beautiful, wicked boy! There, don't struggle…" Another biting sucking kiss, this time under the line of his jaw, and Julian was subtly writhing, but not in an attempt to disengage. "If you're going to grip, put those hands on my neck, on the ridges, and bear down.  _Yes._ " He pushed with his hand, managing to slide a little further into Julian's ass, and Julian whined softly against his forehead, the vibration of it thrilling through his acoustically sensitive  _firitek_  organ. "That's it… good boy…"

"Oh, no!" Julian changed tactics, raking his fingernails up and down the ridges in a way that made Garak growl outright, then applying pressure as directed. "If I'm being good, I'm doing it all wrong. I want to be naughty for you, Father — so naughty that they'd kick me out of Starfleet if they knew."

"You do, do you?" Garak knew his smile was hot and feral. It was just as well that Julian couldn't see it from his angle. "You've already been a thoroughly wanton little tease, Julian. I'd call that very naughty indeed."

"Oh dear!" He leaned back just enough to look Garak in the face, his dark eyes laughing slyly within a solemn expression. "What sort of punishment would be suitable, I wonder?"

So the smile didn't frighten him. Garak kept his voice dangerously soft. "Well, I could send you to bed without supper, but I don't think that strikes quite the note you're looking for, does it?""

"No…" He moved his pelvis from side to side, then thrust it back against Garak's hand. "But you're getting warmer."

After a moment Garak bared his teeth more savagely. "I see. You know, I've heard stories about how you Humans deal with your children." He withdrew his fingers, prompting a swiftly indrawn breath, then rubbed Julian's ass again, squeezed it — and lightly slapped it. The little squirm and gasping laugh and tighter grip on his ridges that resulted were most encouraging. "Thoroughly barbaric, all of them."

"But I've been so  _bad_ ," Julian pleaded, "Commander Sisko would give me  _such_  a tongue-lashing if he knew…" He looked down at Garak speculatively, then with a heated smile. "Mmmm, you could always do  _that_  instead…"

Garak smacked his ass considerably more smartly. "That's not how it's done," he said sternly.

"Oh?" A pout, but there was a hectic blush high on Julian's cheekbones.

"Impertinent little boys do  _not_  get their  _sharastli_  sucked — that honor is accorded to their Fathers."

Julian hooded his lust-darkened eyes and pulled away as much as Garak's arm around his waist would allow, bringing one hand to the closure of his uniform jacket and starting to open the seal, long brown fingers gliding slowly toward his waist. "I think you'd want to if you saw it. It's very nice."

"I'm sure it is." He wanted to bite and lick and mark every inch of Julian's body he could reach, but retained enough control to refrain from indulging his more bestial impulses. He loosened the grip of his arm enough to give Julian a little more play. "By all means, my dear, remove your clothes, but don't expect me to worship your pretty  _sharast_  when it's revealed in all its glory."

"You will touch it though, won't you?" He reached the bottom of the jacket's seal and pulled it open, revealing the lilac undershirt beneath. The willowy slimness of his body made Garak's mouth positively water: sheer perfection, utterly delectable. He heard another growl issue from his throat, resonating deep in his chest. Julian smirked and continued: "Some day I'll take this all off for you properly. Strip for you." He giggled as he shrugged out of the uniform jacket. "If I tried to dance right now, I'd — I think I'd fall over. Not very sexy."

"I'd say you're equally sexy under all conditions." The jacket hit Garak's knees and slid out of his lap onto the floor, unheeded. 

"Not if I'm wobbling all over the place. This is good, though. You're holding me steady." Bent head, arms crossed over his torso to grasp the bottom of the undershirt, a swift upward pull and it was off, revealing an upper body as hairless and sleek as any Cardassian's, with silkier skin of a ravishing caramel hue. The urge to bite returned with a vengeance and Garak yielded to it enough that he leaned up and applied his teeth to Julian's shoulder, raking the tender skin with only a little less force than he would have used with someone of his own species. To his surprise Julian moaned eagerly and, after dropping the undershirt carelessly behind him, sank the fingers of both hands deep into Garak's hair and cradled his head close. "Harder," he whispered, "make me  _feel_  it," and it was only with the greatest force of will that Garak pulled away.

"No."

"Please?"

"My darling." His breath hissed in his throat. "I won't make you bleed, which is the next natural step. Your skin is too fragile. Here." He slid his hand around to run it lightly over the hot fleshy shaft still concealed inside Julian's pants. "Isn't that nicer?"

"Garak." He seemed to be having trouble breathing in his turn, even as he pushed himself forward against Garak's palm. "Oh. That's. That's just  _it_. You…" A passionate cry as Garak took hold of his  _sharast_  through the uniform pants and gave it a firm squeeze: "Oh  _God_ , spank me while you're doing it, Father!  _Please_ _!_ "

It wasn't the most eloquent of requests, but Garak got the gist of it. There would be time for refinements later (he was actually thinking of a  _later_ , and he fiercely pushed away all thoughts of how hopeless that expectation was): for now he contented himself with opening Julian's pants with a tailor's deftness and getting down to business, pulling the boy's upper body forward to lean against him for stability, making sure those strong slender arms were locked around his shoulders before devoting both hands to the requested tasks. The response was remarkable: Julian started trembling, clutching at Garak and rocking his hips back and forth, thrusting into Garak's clasping hand. Garak was careful not to apply too much force in striking him — not enough to bruise but certainly enough to sting, which to judge by Julian's enthusiastic moans hit exactly the right note. His own  _sharast_ , neglected, burned and throbbed and wept its lubricant into his pants — until Julian fumbled a hand down and began to rub it, biting at his left neck ridge with teeth so sharp that he couldn't suppress a torrid hiss of approval, or the way his own hips bucked upward. 

"Not fair," Julian breathed after perhaps thirty seconds of mutual masturbation. "I haven't seen you yet. I  _need_  to see you." He pushed himself away enough to get in a fierce wet kiss, his clever surgeon's hands pulling at Garak's tunic, this time finding the hidden fasteners in spite of his intoxication. Looking up into that angelic face — flushed golden skin, swollen lips raptly parted, eyes wide and lust-darkened and fastened hungrily on the older Cardassian beneath him — and feeling the savage pulse of his own arousal behind every scale, Garak knew that it was time to move to a more suitable playing field: given their equally mutual inebriation, fucking on a narrow couch was a recipe for disaster.

"Bedroom," he hissed, unrepentantly reptilian, and after a moment Julian scrambled off his lap and seized his hand and practically dragged him to his feet. Partially entwined, kissing and groping, they stumbled across the living room and into the dark inner chamber, Julian with his pants flayed open at the groin, Garak with his tunic hanging half off him. Julian pulled away long enough to shed the pants and boots with a surprisingly serpentine wriggle of his hips; Garak, less used to disrobing in haste, had just slipped out of his tunic when his Human host pounced on him. Pushed to the bed, kissed and bitten by a ravenous mouth, stripped by practiced hands and caressed to the point of madness, Garak found himself in an unusual position: usually the one in control of a given situation, or at least of himself, he found himself swept up and carried on a tide of pure erotic feeling. He did his best to give as good as he got — and judging by Julian's gasps and cries and clutching and writhing he was doing a commendable job of it — but when Julian rolled them both over with Garak on top, looked up into his eyes, stretched his long supple spine and spread his thighs and breathed a tender order — "Fuck me, Father!" — Garak had no illusions about who was calling the shots.

Oh, how glorious it was to surrender! And when Julian stiffened and almost screamed beneath him, painting their bellies with spurt after spurt of hot white semen, Garak closed his eyes and let himself go, trusting this marvellously wanton beauty beneath him to hold him fast and never let him fall.


	4. Chapter 4

Out of blissful darkness, pain.

Garak couldn't hide from it forever, as hard as he tried to burrow into the pillow (not his own, no, not with  _that_  faint sweet scent) and squeeze his eyes closed against its inevitable approach. At last he unwillingly broke the surface of consciousness — and with full wakefulness came full awareness of a pounding, nauseating headache that sank into his brain like the blade of a rusty  _bat'leth_. An anguished vocalization burst from his lips, a kind of wavering high-pitched moan, and he curled one arm over his burning eyes, dimly aware of the sound of a cup being set down on a hard surface out in Bashir's living room, followed by footfalls crossing to the bedroom arch and pausing there.

"Garak?" The youth's voice was soft and roughened. "Are you awake?"

"Unfortunately, yes." He managed not to whimper. Barely. "My head…"

"Stay there. I'll get you something for it." Bashir moved away — barefoot, even in his current state Garak could tell that much — in the direction of the replicator. After gathering his strength Garak rolled over and sat up with some difficulty, moving very carefully in order to avoid having his skull split wide open. Once somewhat upright he ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, licking his lips and wincing. "Garlak root," he muttered, then risked a louder and more plaintive exclamation: "Why does my mouth taste like  _garlak root?_ "

"I was wondering the same thing about parsnips." Bashir, looking adorably sleep-tousled in a dark purple silk dressing gown that fell to his knees and revealed his slim golden throat (and bite-markings) to devastating advantage, returned with a glass of something murky, which he held in front of Garak's face. "Here. Drink this."

Garak accepted it cautiously, managing not to spill it in the process. "What is it?"

"An old Terran hangover cure."

The prospect of drinking anything, much less something that looked like effluvia from the Tarbeth Swamps, made his gorge rise and his throat constrict simultaneously. "What's in it?"

"Trust me, you're better off not knowing." Bashir watched intently while Garak got it down in a series of brave swallows, grimacing the while at the medicinal taste, then took the empty glass and set it on the bedside table. He sat down on the edge of the bed and put a light hand on the shoulder of his suffering guest, who had his face buried in both hands to shut out the agonizing light and was softly groaning curses in Hebitian. "Give it a minute."

"I have a better question," Garak ground out between clenched teeth: "What was in that infernal cordial?"

"I fully intend to run a complete analysis on it when I have a clearer head." He withdrew his hand, and an awkward silence fell for several seconds. At last Bashir sighed. "I suppose this is as good a time as any to apologize."

"Hm?" Garak risked a sidelong glance and found himself captivated by a pair of soulful sorrowful eyes. His considerable physical discomfort was suddenly eclipsed by a pang of keener grief: his relationship with this charming man who was his only friend in exile might well be over. "I'm the one who should be apologizing, Doctor," he said with as much sincerity as he could muster through his abysmal headache. 

"Why?" There was a flash of something in Bashir's expression, something Garak had a hard time reading in his current condition, but he thought it had an element of humor. "Because you're older than I am… Father?"

Garak had to look away and cover his face with his hands again. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd felt shame in his long and chequered career. The tally now stood at three. And to hear that endearment from  _those_  lips, offered in jest after so many impassioned kisses… "Among other things, yes." He knew his voice was tight with pain but couldn't seem to modulate his own tone. "And — I should have known better than to take advantage of you under the circumstances. Believe me, I would never…"

The words died in his throat as his mind went temporarily blank, even his pain fading to a distant background hum. Kisses. Bashir was  _kissing_  him, leaning forward to press soft hot lips to the smoother skin just below the tracery of veins at his right temple, slipping one brown hand across his nape and around the other side of his neck to close around his neck ridge and pull him a little closer. The paralysis of amazement held as Bashir murmured in his ear: "Garak…  _I_  kissed  _you_  first, remember? I have absolutely no regrets about that, or about anything else we did last night. But," and the words were borne on a wistful sigh, "I am sorry if  _you_  regret it. And if you want to pretend that it never happened, I'll understand."

Disbelieving, Garak lowered his hands and turned his head enough to look Bashir directly in his luminous hazel eyes. The Doctor appeared perfectly serious. "And if I decide that I never want to see you again?" It was an appalling thought, but he couldn't help being curious.

Another sigh, and Bashir looked away in his turn, eyes downcast. "I'll understand that too. After all, I was very forward with you. I shouldn't have been so —"

"My darling chlid!" The pain was gone, replaced by something Garak hadn't felt in a very long time. It took him a moment to recognize it as hope. "My dear, precious boy… no, no,  _no!_ " He reached up and placed his left hand to the Human's right cheek, which brought that sad gaze back to his face again. "Don't you dare entertain such thoughts, not even for a second. You were perfectly wonderful, and rest assured that if I hadn't cared for anything you were doing I wouldn't have hesitated to stop you."

Bashir studied him briefly, then nodded, and a tiny smile curved the corner of his pensive mouth. "I suppose a member of the Obsidian Order could have incapacitated me in any number of ways."

"They could," Garak agreed, sidestepping the issue as nimbly as he could under the circumstances. "But I can't imagine they'd have wanted to."

The smile widened slightly, and those strong but gentle fingers began a slow caress of his neck ridge. "Then you're not angry with me, Father?" Julian whispered, the shyness of his tone belied by the sensual boldness of his gaze as he leaned closer yet, fluttering his dark lashes enticingly. "Not even a little?"

Garak's heart swelled with unfamiliar warmth, momentarily impeding the flow of words from his usually glib tongue. "Not even a little,  _arashi_ ," he murmured in return, and as he tasted again the willingly offered mouth, those lips like dusky rose silk and the intimate flicker of a cunning tonguetip, he reflected rather absently that he'd have to find some way — not too obvious, but effective — to thank Jadzia Dax for setting up the situation that had led to this happiest of all possible outcomes. 

Then Julian stripped off his robe and slipped into bed, all smiles and kisses and laughing melting gazes, and snuggled close to share his delicious body heat… and Garak, even as hungover as he was, found it impossible to seriously think about anything else for the rest of the morning.

THE END


End file.
